


Rainstorm

by Morgana



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Good things never happened around Angel when it rained</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rainstorm

Angel's mood, never the best on Wednesdays, darkened steadily as the day wore on and the clouds outside grew heavier. By the time the first drops of water hit the windowpanes, he'd managed to alienate almost every single person that worked for him. One by one, they'd made their excuses, gathered up their belongings, and called it a day. It was just as well. Good things never happened around Angel when it rained, and they might as well learn that now. 

After Peter hurried outside to his car, Angel locked the door and made his way upstairs to his room. The steady drum of raindrops on the window slowly filled the apartment, but he did his best to block it out as he took his shower and changed into his sleep pants, then heated his blood. Once he'd finished all his small tasks, though, there was nothing to keep the rain away. Angel took his blood over to the window, staring unseeingly out into the rain while he drank and let the memories of other nights and other storms break over him like ocean waves. 

It wasn't raining the night he got his soul - the Powers' sense of humor wouldn't allow it. But it was when he lost it again, he remembers that. Remembers leaving Buffy sleeping innocently in the bed while he fumbled to get his pants on before he stumbled outside, drawn by the thunder that rumbled overhead and the lightning that flashed in bright sheets. Had he somehow thought to fry himself with a lightning bolt before Angelus could get free? Or was it simply that he craved the outdoors, needed the space and biting air for his demon's return? It certainly had suited Angelus' love of the dramatic, that was for sure. 

Rain brought Connor into his life at the same instant that it took Darla out of it. He doesn't like to think about that night, doesn't want to recall holding her hand as it turned to dust and fell away, but like a toothache, he finds he can't help himself. He replayed it over and over again until the dull ache that was his connection to her throbbed painfully. Only when it threatened to break him down could he allow himself to think about Connor. 

He'd been perfect, his pink skin shining with drops when Angel gathered him close and wrapped him in his coat. If it hadn't been for Darla's dusting, he probably would've lost his soul just at the sight of him. His miracle child. The one thing no vampire was ever supposed to have, the priceless treasure and gift of life that was beyond all of them, but that somehow Angel had been given. One more thing to mark him as special, or so they'd thought. 

Special. He snorted softly, wondering what he would've done in that alley if he'd known about the heartache and destruction that had really been born that night. Wesley had asked him once what he might've changed if he could and he'd hurried to give the proper answer, said he would do everything just the same, but he lied. He's weak, so terribly weak, and tired enough of his endless suffering that he probably would've given in, broken the baby's neck and begged Holtz for death. Or at least that's what he tells himself when it rains. 

Then there had been the fire that rained down on him while he watched the woman he loved in the arms of his son as they created a monster. Pain stabbed at him with the memory and he raised a hand to rub at his chest, as though he could actually massage the ache away. He wonders if it's ever going to stop hurting, if he'll ever really forgive Connor for taking the one woman that actually loved him for who he was. 

Angel doesn't delude himself. Darla loved the vicious potential she saw, and the way he made her come until she passed out. Buffy loved the dark, brooding protector that was straight out of a Bronte novel, and he'd had little more than a casual sex arrangement with Nina. But Cordy had seen him, really seen him, from his petty jealousies to the dark part of him that had closed those cellar doors and sanctioned murder, and loved him all the same. She loved him enough to use her last breath to try to put him back on the right path simply because she believed in him. He'd never been loved like that before her, didn't even know that kind of love existed, but now that he's tasted it, the loss hurts all the more. 

There had been rain on another night, too - sheets of it that billowed and whipped around them in the alley where he and his friends had faced hell itself. It had lasted through the endless night, pouring down on them as they fought demon after demon until the onslaught just... stopped. But the rain had continued, the water mixing with the blood to form oddly streaked puddles under their feet, pelting down onto the bodies that lay strewn all about them, plastering clothing and hair flat until they were all but dragged down by the weight of it. He remembered tilting his head back and opening his mouth to the rain, just before- 

He cut the thought off before it could form. It was a glitch, that was all, a celebration of life after the certainty of death that they'd been prepared to face. They'd agreed on that almost as soon as it had happened. Neither had ever said anything about it, and if the rain sometimes brings memories of a slender body and a hungry mouth under his, Angel never mentions it. 

"You gonna stand there an' brood all night, or invite a fella in to have a drink?" 

Angel didn't turn around, just stared at one of the raindrops as it trickled slowly down the window, tracing a winding path over the glass. "Go away, Spike." 

"Don't think so. Need to stop scarin' off the humans, mate. Hard enough to keep good help without you runnin' 'em off just cause it's rainin'." He could practically feel Spike's eyes boring into his back and he hunched his shoulders slightly. The blond sighed before the door closed with a soft click, but Angel knew better than to think that meant Spike was gone. Spike was never really gone; even when he wasn't actually standing in the room he was there, just waiting for the chance to prove himself. 

The soft shush of boots on Berber carpet and the scent of whiskey reached him just seconds before the hand lightly touched his shoulder. "Can't keep hidin' out here every time it rains, Angel," that low voice murmured, and Angel wondered if maybe, just maybe, the rain made Spike think about things too. 

He turned to look at Spike and got caught in his gaze and the silent question that always seemed to be there. Before he could stop himself, Angel lowered his head and their lips met in a light kiss. It was a kiss of possibilities, of might-have-beens and what-ifs and maybe-could-bes. But this time when it ended, he didn't back away, just leaned his forehead against Spike's and looked into those eyes and the storm that he could see brewing behind them. 

When it broke, he welcomed it, gave himself up to it entirely, and let Spike show him what it was like to taste thunder and ride lightning up to heaven and back. And in the aftermath, as they lay in the tangled sheets and listened to the rain, Angel wondered why it had been so hard to let someone else lead him through the storm in the first place.


End file.
